


Mother's Day

by orphan_account



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-01
Updated: 2012-05-01
Packaged: 2017-11-04 16:35:50
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/395923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles still misses his mom.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mother's Day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [elegantwings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/elegantwings/gifts).



> This was written rather quickly for [Rosali](http://youshatteredmyshatner.tumblr.com/). It is unbeta'd.  
> It was intended to be private, between her and I, but she's always encouraging me to share my writing so here it is. 
> 
> Mothers are often gone too soon, or are never the mothers they should have been. Mother's Day can be particularly difficult for people who have lost theirs or have to deal with or be reminded of a mother who never mothered or only caused damage and hurt. **The rest of us see you.** We hope your Mother's Day is filled with joy and comfort through other women in your life who nurture, protect, and love you. Mothers come in the shape of many types of people and connections. I hope you all find something that fills that space if it's something you need or are looking for.  
>  \--

After his mom died, Stiles felt something inside him freeze. 

Grief is a strange, sentient thing. There are the steps you can map out and identify as you experience them; but you cannot quantify how grief holds itself in a soul. Once the steps are done and you've found yourself on the other side of stage 5 "Acceptance", you think you've done it. You can go. Grief, however, never really releases a person. It bends and molds you. It's a living, growing piece that changes with you as you move forward. 

Stiles' mother used to touch his face. She would glance over at him while scrambling eggs and he would see 'the look' and knew it was coming. Her hand was cool and she would rest it on cheek and jaw, not quite cradling, just relaxed. Then she would smile and return to her task as if nothing had happened. 

She was clever and sarcastic, and she was soft but held her own. She smelled like earth and sweat in the afternoons when he came home from school and she would have soil smeared across her t-shirt from her attempts at gardening. Each year she would try and each year she would fail. His dad would tease and complain, but she never stopped. She said she enjoyed it. So she planted everything she could and tended it as if it were a prize winning arrangement or vegetable. 

Once, she successfully grew a carrot. It was a single carrot the size of a ballpoint pen. It was pitiful looking, but vivid orange and she'd opened the door proudly presenting it like it was the greatest thing you would ever see. Stiles' dad had rolled his eyes and commented, "Oh thank god, we won't starve."   
She'd just laughed, delighted, cheeks red from the sun, muddy carrot still held up, "Stiles! Get a knife. I'll wash, you slice."   
He'd felt ridiculous preparing to slice and split this pathetic looking vegetable, but he complied. They stood at the counter and she delicately popped the first tiny, round slice into her mouth and chewed like she was savoring a fine wine. She hummed happily. Stiles rolled his eyes, shoved all 4 tiny pieces of his half into his mouth and crunched down. She laughed and smacked his arm telling him to go back to watching tv.   
Stiles still remembers it as the sweetest carrot he's ever tasted. Grief always makes the carrots sweeter, the sun brighter, the smiles more breathtaking, and the voices melodic. People will tell you it's just the brain's way of coping but Stiles knows that grief is a window.  

He thinks grief is a very clear, crystal sheet of glass placed between you and the dead or lost. You spend your life looking at people and interacting with them through a glazed window. You have moments where you peek through a translucent portion, and you glimpse the real thing. Those are the moments you fall in love. They are the moments you revel in the smell of your mother's perfume or the hug of a friend and you can't quite remember the scent or embrace ever being that good before. Then you take your next breath and the glaze returns. It would be impossible to see the living clearly. Stiles finds the fear of ghosts pretty damn ironic since the ones breathing in the here and now are the real ghosts. We see foggy versions of everyone. A clear view of a pair of eyes gives you a direct telescope to the heart and soul of a person. We aren't equipped to handle that much at once. So we live on those tiny sneak peeks and moments where we feel something inside unravel and can't figure out why someone is more beautiful that day during that very second than ever before.

When we lose someone or they die, the fog is lifted. It's hard to notice at first because we're caught up in our sadness and anger. We're busy being busy, busy being distracted, or busy trying to forget. Stiles remembers spending the weeks after his mom's death with Scott in front of the television, Playstation on all day, HBO blaring until 5 AM, then they would pass out but Stiles would find no respite in sleep. 

Once you pass that fifth stage, it's like coming out of a coma. You can see. Your memories are now sharper, the smells are sweeter, the touches and tastes are vivid and almost harsh. Your mother's smile and touch are no longer irritating or overlooked, they are what you thrived on, what kept you going. Stiles' mother built a home and kept the three of them together. It's easier to see someone once they're gone. 

Stiles' mother died and he was finally gifted with a clear, sharp sight of her soul. That's when he understood. Grief is a living thing. Years after, we still feel sad or messed up on birthdays or anniversaries. We relate stories and they seem funnier now, sweeter, they matter more. We can finally see.   
Grief turns into glass and telescope. It gives a perspective some have not experienced yet. It's poignant and hard, but it's also a gift.   
3 years after his mother's death, Stiles still finds Mother's Day difficult and unfair. (They should have given her more, done more, said more, been more for her.)  He returns from Scott's house feeling a little haunted and heavy with the things he misses and needs from his mom now that she's gone. He walks up the steps and that's when he sees the bright violet of the perennial up against the porch step. It's small, a little bent up, but it's there: his mother's garden, fighting to sprout and bloom. He feels his throat tighten and something inside thaws and settles. 

He misses her, but his grief has turned to gift. 

**Author's Note:**

> "I tell you, hopeless grief is passionless;  
> That only men incredulous of despair,  
> Half-taught in anguish, through the midnight air  
> Beat upward to God’s throne in loud access  
> Of shrieking and reproach. Full desertness,  
> In souls as countries, lieth silent-bare  
> Under the blanching, vertical eye-glare  
> Of the absolute heavens. Deep-hearted man, express  
> Grief for thy dead in silence like to death—  
> Most like a monumental statue set  
> In everlasting watch and moveless woe  
> Till itself crumble to the dust beneath.  
> Touch it; the marble eyelids are not wet:  
> If it could weep, it could arise and go."  
> \- Elizabeth Barrett Browning


End file.
